


Entropy

by Batwynn



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aliens, Apocalypse, Dubious Consent, Dystopia, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Gang Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sassy, Sexual Violence, Violence, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batwynn/pseuds/Batwynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ABANDONED. </p><p>When NYC becomes 'ground zero' for an alien attack, not everyone stays to defend the ruined city. Tony was the least expected person to stick around, but he doesn't have much to lose anymore, anyway. </p><p>Loki has his throne- under Odin's mask-, a kingdom to rule, and it's boring. No Thor to tease or taunt, no battles to be had, nothing but a ghost over his shoulder and snivling warriors in need of guidence. He wants none of it, he wants entertainment. He wants Midgard. Midgard had been oh-so entertaining the last time he visited...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

  
_  
__ The fire would not go out. Nether the rain nor wind could stop it as it spread across the world, enveloping everything with flames so high they licked the clouds. An unstoppable force. A wall of heat and destruction. It was the beginning of the end, their very own hell, and Loki was the one who unleashed it. _

* * *

 

 **Asgard**  
  
Loki found that his kingdom was becoming boring at a quick and unforgiving pace. The pleasure of taking the throne was short lived after Thor left the golden kingdom and his victorious feelings deflated, leaving nothing but a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. There was simply no pleasure to be had, especially when Thor returned to Midgard to fight with his comrades and undoubtably frolic with his lady partner. Why did he always get the more pleasurable outcome when Loki was left with no one to torment, and few to share an honest word with. Asgard was an utterly dull place to rule.  
  
He did not wish to admit it, but throne held very little appeal to him, even after such a tireless struggle to gain it. The longer he resided there, the more he was reminded of what he lost. Every day, there was a flash of blue at the corner of his eye and he would turn to see his mother standing by the throne where she would always be, her face alight with the most loving, encompassing smile. But no, she was never truly there. It was nothing but a shadow haunting the halls of his memories, forever taunting him with the things he desired most.  
  
The throne itself, held a ghost and if any a ghost would be a burden, it was Odin. Because his memory, his words, and his betrayal were still too heavy for Loki to bear and he simply could not remain under the weight of the past king any longer. A kingdom was not what he desired, not if he must wear the Allfather's face to rule it. He wanted power, as always, but he desired comfort as well. He wanted company who knew his face, and welcomed it. He wanted those who laughed at his death to turn to smile at him instead. The real him, not the endless facades he wore for the past thousand years.  
  
He wanted... family.  
  
But his family was gone, and perhaps they never existed in the first place. Some had gone too far beyond his reach, and the last surviving member had gone to the one place Loki would never be welcomed. To go to Midgard again would be inviting death, or worse. If Thor ever knew of his lie, Loki would never see forgiveness in those eyes again.  
  
  
But, perhaps it would be worth it. If he could not find comfort, he could at least seek out entertainment. The 'Avengers' could offer him some amusement, if provoked again.  
  
Loki chuckled darkly, ignoring the confused looks of the council members around the hall. Oh yes, the kingdom's time had come. Loki would no longer let them live peacefully under their beloved king's rule. What would become of them if their precious 'king' were to simply disappear? It was high time he had a little amusement. It was time to bring chaos.  
  


* * *

  
  
**Spring NYC.**   
  
It was the first day above 30° and Tony was going to enjoy it, god dammit. When you live in New England, 'nice' days were anywhere between 35 and 80 degrees. Anything above or below that was unbearable and complaint worthy.   
  
So the day was perfect, sunny, calm, and lacking in violent crime. Well, at least in the immediate vicinity.   
  
"Tony," Steve called out from the deck in mild irritation, "we have a meeting. Did you forget?"   
  
"I forgot," Tony replied and took off without another word.   
  
Life in the tower had grown nice and tense ever since Thor came back. Of course he blamed Thor for the change instead of Steve or, god forbid, himself. But really, it was the blond's fault, because the weird tension between the solider and Tony only escalated when Thor came back and said one simple thing.   
  
"You two seem close, I am happy for you."   
  
Tony had  _ no _ idea what context he was supposed to take that in, or if Thor had any idea how many physiological traumas he just touched on. Their immediate response was to move farther away from one another and promptly deny anything remotely close to friendship. At least the awkwardness was mutual.   
  
Close? How were they close? He  _ hated _ the man. Well, he didn't hate the Spandex Solider  _ quite _ as much as he did before. But he sure as hell did now. Thanks Thor.   
  
These days, they hardly spoke to one another. When they did, it was always Steve bitching about something Tony did or didn't do and then Tony would bitch right back about how he didn't care and he does what he wants and, oh,  _ you're not my dad _ . It was counterproductive and it didn't go unnoticed. Several times in the past few months something on a mission or a meeting had gone wrong because of their inability to coordinate anymore. Tony would throw long and Steve would stop short, or vice versa.   
  
This landed them in, what Tony lovingly called, 'couples therapy'. Which was all he needed, really, on top of his three other therapists he was  _ supposed _ to be going to. The therapy for the panic attacks, PTSD, nightmares, insecurities, suicidal thoughts, self destructive tendencies. The list was longer than the Silmarillion and had just as many unpronounceable names.   
  
He blew the meetings off a much as he could, because hello? Got a world to save. He got away with it too, even with Fury breathing down his neck and snapping at him to get his head looked at. The man could only threaten him so far without actually resorting to physical violence. Tony waited for the day with baited breath.   
  
So today, the nice and warm, spring day, Tony blew off another meeting. Why would anyone with an ounce of sanity choose to be inside on a day like today? Even a technology loving recluse like him, who lived for air conditioning, would go outside today.   
  
He flew right out of town and headed to the upper parts of New York State. Unfortunately, this meant a slight drop in temperature which Tony really should have anticipated. It pissed him off anyway, because that's just how he felt right now.   
  
"I should have brought a coat," he muttered to himself, watching the temperature on the HUD drop the further away he got from the city. He was nice and warm in his suit, but he wanted to be out of his suit when he arrived. There was no point in a nice day if he spent it in the damned suit. He spent more time in the thing than he did being naked these days.   
  
Which, all in all, wasn't that surprising really. Especially since he and Pepper broke up, and the apathy he had developed towards the usual swarms of women who throw themselves at him at every new fundraiser or party. After a couple months of snubbing perfectly attractive ladies, he had officially been labeled the 'party pooper'.   
  
They finally stopped inviting him to anything that wasn't deemed 'necessary' when he made a rude comment to a particularly flirtatious host one night. But, for once in Tony's life, he gave even fewer fucks about what people thought.   
  
People could suck his dick. Or not, actually. People could leave him alone and stop needing to be rescued. People could stop yelling at him for his alcoholism and maybe notice that his drinking wasn't the problem. That something else was wrong with him, again.   
  
No, people never notice the thing standing right in front of them. They like to go for the tricky stuff, the phsyco babble shit that defines who you are better than your own words or actions, apparently. They focus on the deep seeded meanings, rather then the not-so-well hidden cry for help.   
  
Because he needed help. God damned it all, he  _ desperately _ needed help. Because Tony was dying. Again.   
  


* * *

  
  
It started out as a flutter in his chest right behind the arc reactor. Later that night, he was throwing up and shaking so badly he thought he might have also been having a seizure. That, or there was an earthquake going on. At some point pain started grow in his chest, throbbing nice and sharp with every heart beat. When it was just too much, he passed out. Of course, it was Mother Hen Steve who found him the next afternoon, picked him up, and tucked him into bed. He didn't even start his usual speech about drinking, and Tony had a sneaking suspicion that his own pathetic whimpers of pain were what deterred him at the time.  
  
It didn't go away, Tony just got better at hiding it. In fact, he was so good that Steve had gone right back to bitching at him about three days later. Sometimes he was so good at pretending he was fine, he almost believed it. That is, until he finally caved and asked JARVIS to scan him. The results pushed all hopes of optimistic futures, sunshine, and flowers right out the window.  
  
That had been the worse day for him in a very long time. He went right to the bar and drank as much as his stomach could allow. He secretly hoped to die of alcohol poisoning, but was let down by his own weakened body and passed out on the bathroom floor again.  
  
Dying. It wasn't something he ever actually worried about. He took things in stride, and when his stride was interrupted by the sudden threat of death, he dealt with it. An explosion that embeds shrapnel near his heart? He dealt with it. A guy snapping some fancy lightning whip at you? He took care of that, albeit he sort of ended up blowing up the entire Stark Expo, but he did _okay_. Demigod throws you out a window? He damned well dealt with it. Dying slowly, painfully, and alone? Tony had no idea what to do.  
  
Didn't he already do this song and dance? The new element was supposed to fix the damn palladium problem, not create a new one. He wasn't even sure what it was about the newer reactor that was hurting him so much. It just kept... s _topping_.  
He guessed that the fluttery feeling was probably the shrapnel moving closer to his heart when the reactor failed. He hadn't even noticed it flicker off, which was probably a bad sign to begin with.  
  
He sure as hell noticed it now. Tony had to wear thicker shirts the longer it went on, hiding the flickering light coming from his chest. It was amazing what one could do with a sweater and a snarky attitude. No one noticed a thing. Not a single one of his team noticed the pain he was in, his lack of apatite, the black turtle neck he hardly ever changed out of, or even the fact that he hadn't gone out on a mission with them for weeks.  
  
Assumptions were made, interventions staged. Even Thor sat down with him one day and started talking about addictions.  
  
"Man of Iron," Thor began, not so subtly herding Tony to the couch. Weren't interventions supposed to be less obvious, to put the intervenee at ease? "I wish to speak to you about Loki."  
  
Yeah, Thor and 'ease' were not meant to be.  
  
"Why the hell are you bringing that bag of cats up?" Tony asked, allowing himself to be drawn in. He had to admit, it wasn't a subject he expected.  
  
"My brother may have been... unstable, but I must ask you to respect his memory. If not for him, than for myself."  
  
"Sorry, buddy, but _why_ are you talking about your brother?"  
  
"Loki was a lot like you, in some ways," Thor replied. He put his hand up to silence the angry snort that came from Tony, and continued, "he lost his family, not once, but twice. He suffered things unknown to most, and channeled it into a mighty rage. You cannot deny that you, too, have done this. If your armor does not attest for this, I know not what does."  
  
"I do not go out and unleash a 'mighty rage'."  
  
Thor looked at him skeptically and it pissed Tony off more, because he knew the god was right. Tony glared at him and flicked a hand to suggest he continue.  
  
"Both of you hide behind a mask," Thor said, his voice softening slightly. "I do not mean your literal one, but the falsehood you wear in front of your true face. Loki rarely showed a true emotion, instead he would show one what they needed. He played his part well, and took what he wanted from offering hands. That is how he fought, sneaky and extremely destructive. You are always hiding your thoughts just as he did. You never rely on your team mates, even when we have proven well that we care for you."  
  
Tony was openly staring at Thor. His jaw may have even hit the floor at some point during his little speech. Not only was he comparing Tony to the guy who attacked Earth and threw him out a window, he was actually making a pretty good argument for it. Thor, making a _good argument_.  
  
"Wait a minute... these aren't your words."  
  
"I assure you, Man of Iron, that my words are—"  
  
"Jane fed you these lines," Tony interrupted. Thor glanced to the side and confirmed it. "God _dammit_. How bad do I seem that even you had to pull your girlfriend in? Is Darcy going to show up with a clipboard and start telling me it's all because of daddy issues?"  
  
Tony stopped and tilted his head to the side a little.  
  
Actually, that could be a diagnosis. Let's pretend we didn't say that. A little too close to home.  
  
"She and I grow concerned for you," Thor answered him glumly. "Darcy would not interfere like that. She does not even know I am here."  
  
"Should I expect that porthole doctor dude," Tony snapped at him glibly, "because really, the more the merrier, right? Hell, why not one for each mental problem?"  
  
"You _mock_ our concern?"  
  
Well that was a dangerous tone if he ever heard one. "No, I just don't like people in my business," Tony replied, a little more carefully. "I'm an adult, I'm doing fine, and if one more person tries to fix me I'll go jump off a building."  
  
Thor looked pained for a moment, and Tony couldn't pinpoint which part seemed to bother him the most. He hated seeing that kicked puppy look on a man who was three times as large as him, and had thousands of people praying to him at some point.  
  
"You wish to die?" Thor asked, his usual booming voice soft, and raspy. "You wish to... to _fall_?"  
  
 _Ah_ , so that's the part.  
  
"No, no, _no_. It's just a saying. A frustrated saying. I'm not trying to recreate the Loki sky dive, thank you very much." He paused and sat up straighter, "can I ask why your girlfriend and you thought comparing me to Loki would help?"  
  
Thor looked uncomfortable suddenly, shifting back in his seat as if to get away from the man he was confronting. After a moment of silence he spoke, "I meant no insult to you, only to tell a tale of caution. Friend, you knew my brother in one state of mind. There was more to him than that attack, more to him than his rage. He smiled, before. He played the most amusing pranks on my friends, and often myself. Nothing hurt, and nothing was missing back then." Thor paused again and swallowed painfully. "He... when he found out of his true heritage, I know the loss he felt. I felt it too, in a way. But I was much more accepting of his adoption than he, and he fell into his own trap. Loki fell because he wanted to be seen."  
  
"Okay, so I like being in the public's eye, but I haven't 'fallen'," Tony interrupted. Thor gave him the 'sit down and shut up' look, so he did.  
  
"Do you not crave recognition for your triumphs?" Thor asked. Tony gave him his 'well, duh' look in response.  
  
“Yes," Thor answered for him, "we all do. When we do good, or impressive deeds, we seek others recognition. Loki wanted our father to see him, to see what he could do. I admit, at the time, that I did not understand his actions. But the more I spoke to Lady Jane of it, the better she helped me understand. Before his... before his death, Loki did his best. He triumphed, he saved, he fought courageously, and he did it for no one but himself."  
  
"That's a lie."  
  
"I do not understand, why do you say that?" Thor asked, derailed by Tony's interruption.  
  
"By the sounds of it, he did it for you too."  
  
Thor's face brightened immediately, all gloom and doom lost. "I had hoped he did, but I was never to be sure! You have my thanks, Man of Iron."  
  
"Anytime you need some Loki perspective I'm, apparently, your man. I do free conciliations."  
  
Thor laughed for the first time since they sat down, and Tony felt the mood lighten to a much more comfortable level. Happy was good. Happy he could handle.  
"So what is this point that you're getting at, oh-so-slowly?"  
  
"The craving," Thor began again, his happy mood doused ever so slightly, "his craving for power. The addiction to the attention received and the power to gain it. Loki _never_ lacked power, yet he had an unsalable thirst for attention. Every trick, every small triumph was shown to me or others with such eagerness. Sadly, myself and others grew tired of his bragging, and started to ignore him or brush off each triumph as nothing. I believe..." Thor looked down at his fidgeting hands and let out a sharp breath. "I believe that was our heaviest mistake. He was still a thousand years young, just a child really. Yet we shunned his accomplishments as if they were nothing, simply because we assumed he had grown too large for his boots. It changed him so drastically, and I should have noticed."  
  
Thor looked up at him and met Tony's eyes with sharp blue intent. "I failed my brother, I failed my realm, and I failed yours. My mistake tore my brother away and created a monster from the ashes."  
  
"'Monster' is a bit harsh, Thor. He's still human..." Tony shook his head, "okay so not human, but he's still a person. You can't go calling him a monster just because he made some really bad choices."  
  
Thor shook his head too and looked back down at his hands. "See? The things I say are always wrong about him. If he were here, he would feel hurt."  
  
"I don't doubt it," Tony replied. "But he's not, and that's a whole other kettle of guilt-fish."  
  
Thor furrowed his brow and continued on, apparently not listening to Tony, "he was a changed man after that, and it lead to the attack here on Midgard. If not for the slights, I am _sure_ he would have made a better choice."  
  
"Man of Iron," he said, suddenly looking up again with a stern look on his face. Tony tensed up immediately. "You are _very_ much like him. You desire power and control, you desire acknowledgement. The Captain has spoken to me of another addiction, to drink. I cannot speak to you of the dangers of ale, since I myself partake in quite a lot of it."  
  
Tony smirked at that and bit back a laugh. Thor really did 'partake' a lot of it.  
  
"But I do wish for you to heed my words. Too much of such things can lead one to their downfall. I do not wish to see you dead, Man of Iron. Not ever."  
  
"I'm not gonna die, so stop worrying."  
  
And that's where Tony had to choke back the sob that threatened to escape, and smile. Because Thor was spot on, this was his facade.  
  


* * *

  
  
Tony gave up on his 'Nice Day Excursion Plan 1.0' when his reactor flickered mid flight and almost sent him into a river. He flew back quickly and stumbled a landing out on the deck.   
  
"Tony!"   
  
Wonderful, Steve was still here. How much do you want to bet he saw the stumbling and assumed it was—   
  
"Are you  _ drunk _ ?!"   
  
Yep, there it was.   
  
"No, I tripped," Tony replied with an easy grin, his suit pulling away from his body as he walked towards the doors. "Nice to see you, too."   
  
"You missed the meeting, and you're drunk.  _ Again _ ."   
  
"I'm not drunk, officer," Tony snapped, his false good humor waining already. "Why don't you give me a breathalyzer?"   
  
"I would, but I'm pretty sure your average blood alcohol levels are too high even when you aren't intoxicated."   
  
Damn, maybe he shouldn't have explained what a breathalyzer was. It was much more fun when the man was ignorant.   
  
"Don't fret, Hen. I'm not drunk, I seriously tripped. I think there's a rock or something out there. Maybe Loki left me a present. I hear he's quite a trickster."   
  
The look Steve was giving him was such a mix of emotions, Tony had to fight to keep himself from laughing.   
  
"He  _ was _ a trickster. He's dead and if Thor heard the way you speak of him, I'm pretty sure he would hit you."   
  
"He was the one who brought the guy up," Tony said with a shrug. "Besides, I was the one who got thrown out the window, I'm allowed to joke about him."   
  
"So you're the only one who suffered during the attack?" Steve asked coldly. "That gives you the right to dishonor your comrade's fallen family?"   
  
"Steve, why do you always have to take a small joke and blow it so far out your ass, it's not even on this planet anymore?"   
  
"When they aren't  _ funny _ ."   
  
"Well  _ I _ think It was, and I think i'm in desperate need of better entertainment," Tony called out over his shoulder as he went indoors.   
  
"You can't walk away from everything, Stark!" Steve called out, "someday you'll have to face who you are!"   
  
Tony stopped and looked with every ounce of pain he was truly feeling and said,   
  
"Not today."   
  
  
  


 


	2. Destroy Everything You Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by my darling friend who's AO3 account name is something I should probably know. -sob-

  
  
**Winter Ground ZERO (Previously NYC)**  
  
Everyone had a cold, complete with runny noses, rough coughing that sounded like half a lung was coming up, and fevers. With no fresh medicine coming into the city, fevers turned deadly, and the sick began to be quarantined. Nearly everyone was wrapped up with scarfs over their faces in a sad attempt at keeping the germs out. Ironically enough, Tony was one of the few who didn't get sick, probably because he didn't spend a lot of time down on the streets. Not that it really mattered if he did catch a cold, anyway, since he was still dying. Or rather, he was somehow still alive and somehow the only one still trying to save New York. The irony wasn't lost on him.  
  
  
"Heeeey! Iron Man!"  
  
"Tony, what brings you to the Wild West?"  
  
Tony laughed as he landed, flipping up his abused mask to smile at Jax. None of them used real names anymore, and he didn't know why he bothered with his.  
  
No, he did know why. He was no longer just a part of a team of heroes, he was his own symbol again. The Iron Man, the One Who Stayed.  
  
"Hey yourself. What's this I hear about a hunt?" he asked, looking down at the man seated on a black motorcycle. Jax was decked out in full riot gear, complete with NYPD's own vest and helmet. The helmet had come a long way from its original police-issue black, and was now decked out in reds and some sort of vivid blue Mohawk on top. Not exactly subtle, but Tony wasn't one to talk.  
  
"You heard?"Jax asked, tapping a finger on the handle of his motorcycle, "You want in? We could use your help hunting those bastards down."  
  
"This isn't another turf war, is it?"  
  
"Nah, man, that shit is old news. We got our own oasis here, who needs their shitty spit of green."  
  
Tony frowned at the flippant mention of the park. Central Park was a big, important zone to have, and anyone who was sane wanted it. What was once a mixture of green fields, arcades, a zoo, and —he personally thought— way too many baseball fields, was now home to 2,000 or something people. The gang who had control of the park were the only ones in the city who had a place to grow large amounts food without risking contamination, and they guarded it with a fierceness Tony suspected existed long before the attack. He had seen them lock away 'trespassers' in the empty zoo and shoot at the feet of teenagers to keep them from crossing their boundaries. They were greedy, dangerous, good with weapons, and still very much New Yorkers.  
  
Tony kept out of the wars between the gangs as much as possible, only intervening when people had started chucking home-made grenades at each other. That had not been a pretty day, but it was the day the war ended. This wasn't why he stayed, to help people fight other people. He stayed to help people fight the damned aliens. Tony really didn't know why he was so surprised; humans are always trying to kill each other.  
  
"People are going to die, Jax," he reminded gruffly, trying not to talk down to the man. It wasn't that Jax was stupid, but sometimes these guys acted like such children. "Attacking will simply agitate them enough to send out raids to your area, and how the hell are you going to protect your families when you're out fighting them somewhere else?"  
  
Jax waved a lazy hand at him and sucked his cheek, looking at the others seated around him on their motorcycles. The ones Tony had given them from his own garage, because they needed to be faster if they didn't want to get killed.  
  
"Shit, man, we doing this whether 'daddy' says so or not," he said, tilting his helmeted head in a mock bow. "You come on down here from your fuckin tower like Moses telling us the rules? No, no, I think we got this."  
  
With a sigh that had been a long time coming, Tony flipped his mask back down and took a step back. "'Daddy' will go with you, because daddy does make the rules and this is still my city, no matter how big or alien the vermin get."  
  
The men —boys— cheered and slid their goggles on, revving their engines with weapons slung across their shoulders. Tony had to wonder if he was really taking the high ground by joining in this war and not the others. Because in the end, whether it's an alien holding the gun or a human, people will still die. People always died.  


* * *

  
  
 **Spring, NYC**  
  
  
"Tony, you have to come," Bruce wheedled, jogging to keep up with him, "It's your own birthday party. Who doesn't go to their birthday party?"  
  
"Me."  
  
"Come on, when was the last time you had fun with everyone?"  
  
Tony stopped and actually thought about it. When was the last time they had gotten together without it ending in a scream fest?  
  
"Christmas?"  
  
Bruce hummed and shook his head, a tight smile playing across his lips. "That wasn't fun, try last Thanksgiving."  
  
"What was wrong with Christmas?" Tony asked, turning back around to face Bruce.  
  
"You don't remember it," Bruce replied dryly.  
  
"Oh... right, I guess that means I made it 'not fun.’"  
  
Bruce's hand shot out and gripped Tony's wrist tighter than one would expect. Tony kept forgetting the guy wasn't some flabby scientist who never saw day light; he had been on the run long enough to grow some muscle tone, and some serious balls.  
  
"Tony, that's not what I was saying at all. I just meant—"  
  
"That I ruined Christmas," Tony interrupted, then forced his mouth closed as the first warning signs of another arc reactor failure started up. Copper in the back of his mouth, that fluttering sensation in his chest that told him the reactor's light was flickering. There wasn't much time before the headache started, or the nausea, or both.  
  
"Look," he began quickly, trying to plan an escape route that wouldn't insult or hurt his friend. These days, Bruce was kind of his only one. "Don't sugarcoat it: I’m no fun at parties anymore, I get it. Now why would you ask me to go to another one when we both know how badly it will go?"  
  
"Because it's your birthday," Bruce  muttered, his voice far more emotional than Tony expected. What good deeds had he done to deserve this guy as a friend? Nothing recently, that's for sure.  
  
Another flutter in his chest and the copper taste grew stronger. Any second now something was going to happen. Tony needed to leave, _now_. Giving his friend an apologetic smile, he pulled his wrist from Bruce's grip and took a few steps back, saying, "I need to do some things. You guys have fun without me, okay?"  
  
"Tony..."  
  
Tony backed up more, and nearly stumbled as black invaded the corners of his vision. Shit, there wasn't time, and the last god damn thing he wanted was Bruce thinking he was drunk. He couldn't stand it if he did, not Bruce, not the one guy who kept some small shred of faith in him. Tony's world tipped, and it felt like a long journey as he fell backwards. He watched the light embedded in ceiling above him twist out of view with a detached fascination.  
  
 _Huh... I should order some new lighting._  
  
Tony’s head hit the floor, and the darkness won.  


* * *

  
  
"...Tony..."  
  
 _‘Well that sounded familiar,’_ Tony thought as blurred shapes shifted above him. The shapes melded together into one blob with glowing eyes, and Tony tried to shift away from it. Only his body decided to betray him and didn't move an inch.  
  
"...When were you... did you know?"  
  
"What?" he asked, or tried to ask. It sounded more like,"Hweaarrht?"  
  
"When were you going to tell me?" The shape asked, and Tony frowned at the roughness of the voice. Glowing eyes came into focus, turning into glasses, and Tony gave the man a lazy smile.  
  
"'Ruce... heeey..."  
  
Bruce smiled back—or grimaced, it was still hard to tell— and a hand gripped his own firmly.  
  
"Tony, you..."  
  
"Wasserong?" he slurred, trying to sit up. Something was bothering Bruce, and Tony would kick that something's ass.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me you were dying?"  
  
Even in his hazy state of mind, Tony knew that _that_ was something Bruce was not supposed to know, and that he was in serious fucking shit now. He sobered up fast, forcing himself up from the medical lab cot. A quick glance around told him they were alone. Thank god for small miracles, or Bruce's insistent need for privacy.  
  
Shit, of course Bruce would scan him, probably take some blood samples. Tony's eyes fell on the IV stuck in his arm, and he grimaced. Of course he did, because Bruce was extraordinarily thorough, especially when he's worried about something. Tony couldn't deal with this, not now, not ever. He didn't want to see the pity for his stupid failing body, or the anger for keeping it a secret. He just kind of wanted to die right now.  
  
"I was dealing with it," he answered vaguely, still not meeting Bruce's eye.  
  
"Tony, you've only got—"  
  
Tony snapped his head around, snarling, "I _know_! I know more about this than you do, Bruce, so don't start lecturing me now that you've just noticed something is wrong. I said I'm fucking handling it!"  
  
Bruce recoiled as if struck, and it wasn't anger or pity that Tony should have feared, it was pain.  
  
"I didn't... know. I thought something was wrong but," Bruce paused and glanced down at the Stark Tablet in his hand. "I'm sorry I didn't notice in time."  
  
"There's no 'in time', buddy. I've done all I could, tested every angle, tried new elements. Hell, I even tried a new diet." Tony sighed and rubbed the palm of his hand against his aching chest. It always felt bad afterwards, like the way a panic attack left him drained and feeling old. "Maybe I should have taken up acting, because I had everyone fooled, Bruce, not just you.”  
  
His friend didn't look up, not even when he spoke. "I should have noticed, I’m such an idiot. The paleness, the dark circles. The way you wobbled and stumbled so much."  
  
"To be fair, everyone assumed I was drunk which, for once, wasn't true, but an understandable assumption."  
  
"Your bar hasn't been refilled in almost a year."  
  
Tony blinked at him and grunted in confusion.  
  
"Your bar," Bruce repeated, lifting his eyes to stare at Tony with a dark gaze. "You haven't had a drink in a year, and I didn't even notice. Not at the parties, not at the meetings, no spiked coffee, and no new bottles." His eyes grew sadder as he spoke, until he forced himself to look away again.  
  
Tony stared at him for some time, long after they both fell into a miserable silence. There were words, of course, that he could say to make the man feel better. But they were generic and more than a little fake, and Bruce wasn't shallow enough to accept them as the truth, anyway. So Tony stared, and he thought, and he decided.  
  
"We all die, Bruce," he said at last, and silently cursed himself for using a cliché after all.  
  
Bruce looked up, mouth pressed into a thin, white line. "Not you. Not like this."  
  
"Yeah, me... and exactly like this."  
  
"No," Bruce muttered darkly, "not like _this_."  


* * *

  
  
 **Asgard**  
  
  
It didn't take much planning, his grand departure. Just a call to the realm for a great announcement, just a few thousand invitations sent, and just as many animals slaughtered for the feast. Loki took sick pleasure in every challenge they met as everyone squabbled to make the event perfect. He could not laugh, oh no, not yet. He was still Odin, and the Allfather did not burst into wild peals of laughter in front of his subjects. Soon, he reminded himself, soon.  
  
He was already packed and ready to leave a week ago, the inter-dimensional pocket filled with his few necessities. Just simple things like his staff, not the vile thing that held him bound to Thanos, but his elven staff of yew and silver. He may or may not have kept the Casket of Ancient Winters in there as well, and perhaps a few other things from the vault.  
  
The day of his announcement came not a moment too soon, for the mask Loki wore was beginning to itch. It started late after the noon hour with a 'humble' feast, with Asgard's finest warriors seated near their king. They saw honor in it, whereas Loki saw the joke.  
  
"Hear me," his voice boomed through the hall, and their chatter dropped immediately.  
  
"I have held this feast in honor of the mightiest warriors of this realm, and to honor the finest of them all, who is no longer here." He paused for effect, and relished the saddened faces before him. "Thor, my son, and your prince. The sun of our realm, the strongest, the bravest, the most utterly pointless brute alive."  
  
Sif was the first to react, her head snapping up from her plate sharply. Others were quick to follow, his final words sinking in their dull minds.  
  
"Ah, yes," Loki purred behind Odin's face, "your love for that fool knows no bounds. Have you no restraint? Is your love unconditional, or is it _blind_?"  
  
"My lord..." Someone muttered, and many fingers reached for swords across the hall.  
  
Loki smirked, one eye twinkling with mirth as he continued, "Yes, your _lord_. You have followed me for nearly a year's time and you have never once questioned me, doubted my reasoning, nor raised a complaint for what I've done. Is this true power? The power over the dull and the ignorant?" His smirk fell into a bitter scowl. "If this is it, then I no longer want such a thing. You may keep your warriors, your battles, your ignorance, but you shall no longer have a king."  
  
And with that, Loki let his facade fall away. He stood tall, clad in green and black armor laced with gold. His grin was wide with vicious glee at the horror on their faces. Swords were drawn, mugs of ale were dropped, and all the while Loki simply smiled.  
  
"I curse you, sons and daughters of Asgard," he growled, his voice reaching every corner of the hall. "Without your king, without your prince, may your golden kingdom fall."  
  
Spears were aimed and thrown, swords were swung and stabbed into his flesh. His battered image flickered, grinned, and vanished in a haze of gold.  
  
Somewhere many miles away, Loki burst into well-earned laughter at last, and slipped away on paths unseen. Away from this rotten kingdom, away to Midgard.  
  
________  


**Winter Ground ZERO (previously NYC)**

 

The hunt was on.  
  
 Tony followed from above as five men on motorcycles started whooping and howling when they drove past the subway tunnel entrances. They didn't have to wait long before the first blur of a body darted out of the dark tunnel and started chasing the bikes. It was quickly followed by nine more bodies, each putting on a burst of speed when they made visual contact.  
  
"Ten total, and that's all she wrote," Tony confirmed.  
  
"Let me know if you see any more," Jax's voice crackled over the connection.  
  
The five riders broke apart, scattering down side streets and alleys. The aliens darted after them, splitting three ways and ignoring the other two riders.  
  
Tony swore from above, and pulled up to follow the first group. He knew this game, it was one they had played many times before. Waiting at the end of each of the rider's routes was another group, armed to the teeth, and waiting for those alien bastards to come running right into their trap. It had worked before with little to no casualties, but Tony didn't like it. The hunters were still civilians to him, but maybe it was time he admitted he was wrong. They had stopped being civilians months ago, back when they watched their first family member get ripped apart and eaten. Back when their innocence died and they morphed into soldiers. Soldiers who fought and fell, soldiers who died. What was it Steve had asked him way back when?  
  
 _"Is this the first time you've lost a soldier?"_  
  
Tony laughed bitterly at the memory, and followed the nastier of the aliens down Main Street. He had a number written on the wall of the penthouse. It grew larger almost every day, and Tony had begun to worship the quiet days when it didn't go up. The days when humanity pushed back and gained just a little more ground, sending the creatures crawling back into the tunnels. Only a madman would chase them down there, because down below the rubble-littered streets was the most dangerous place in the city.  
  
  
When you heard the word “aliens,” you looked to the skies for a silver saucer or, these days, giant whale-bug things filled with Chitauri. It was almost sad that people had come to accept that they were going to be attacked after Loki's army.  
  
 No, what was sad was that while they looked skyward, death came from below.

 

* * *

 **NYC SUMMER**  
  
No one noticed at first, because what's another homeless person gone missing? Nothing, not to the people of New York. You didn't see the homeless man in the alley, and when he _really_ disappeared, who went looking?  
  
It wasn't until the homeless shelters and soup kitchens were actually empty that people started to ask questions. The problem was that they weren't the right questions and they were being asked way too late.  
  
"People are missing."  
  
"What? Where? Was there a kidnapping?"  
  
Tony scowled at his team mates and drew up the holograms of his carefully designed graphs and charts. Okay, so maybe he had been obsessing over this a little bit, but it distracted him from his own problems. He hadn't gone on a 'mission' for a while now, and being stuck at home with shaky hands and bouts of dizziness meant a lot of internet surfing and news watching. He had first noticed when a few smaller news station reports popped up, and started gathering more and more information.  
  
"Look," Tony directed, pointing at a bar graph. "This is the number of homeless people in NYC last year.  Around 11,523 people were confirmed to be without homes or work."  
  
Steve frowned and asked, "Tony, what does this—"  
  
"Shut up and _listen_ ," Tony snapped, jabbing his finger at the next bar on the graph. "This is the number from later that year. It's less concrete, but it's noticeably higher. Around 12,000 or more."  
  
Bruce scowled and crossed his arms across his chest. Tony knew these numbers were striking right at his friend’s big heart, but it was the next statistic that they should be worried about.  
  
He tapped his finger on a bar considerably lower than the other two. "This was in January. Based on a loose survey, there was around 5,000 homeless people. Now, that's a 7,000 people difference. There's no political, spiritual, or logical way that number could have dropped so drastically in so short a time."  
  
Steve furrowed his brow at the chart, not looking half as concerned as he should be. "Tony, this is hardly incriminating evidence of... whatever it is you're trying to prove. As you said, it's a loose survey, they could hardly find everyone to talk to, and maybe there was an influx of open jobs lately."  
  
"There wasn't, I checked. In fact, there was nothing but cutbacks," Tony replied, turning back to the graph. "I thought maybe it was just an error on the surveyor’s part, but look at the next number."  
  
Bruce squinted and pointed out, "There isn't another bar."  
  
"Exactly, because the number of homeless has miraculously dropped to zero."  
  
Bruce's arms dropped, his eyes growing wide. " _Zero_?!" He asked incredulously.  
  
"Zero. The shelters are empty, a lot of the regulars from the soup kitchens haven't been seen in months. People didn't even report anything about it until one lady finally kicked up enough of a fuss to get some attention."  
  
Steve was finally catching on, his face growing pale as he looked the figures over again and again. Finally, he turned that speculative gaze on Tony and asked, "How did you find this?"  
  
"Does it matter? It's been found," Tony replied stiffly and ignored Bruce's worried look. "The real question is, what do we do?"  
  
Their eyes traveled back to the blue, faintly glowing graph in front of them. Usually, Steve would have a plan ready in less than a minute. Usually the man would be suiting up or giving some sort of pep talk. But this time he seemed to be stunned speechless, maybe even a little scared. Tony mentally patted himself on the back for finally managing to shut Steve up without much effort.  
  
Bruce shifted, drawing Tony's attention back to him. He was met with wide, saddened eyes. There wasn't a hint of green in them. That was Bruce, ever in control, even in intense situations. His voice, however, came out small and tense as he spoke.  
  
"I think the most important question is... where did they _go_?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not actually sure if I will be continuing this fic, but since I already wrote this chapter out, I figured I might as well post it.


End file.
